


Sore Wounds in the Spare Room

by KC_R



Series: Hornet Dies :/ [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hornet is still dead, Implied/Referenced Character Death, the farthest from cannon I will probably ever go, the new children don’t have names because PK is scared of naming them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KC_R/pseuds/KC_R
Summary: Two more children, a set of twins, are introduced to the palace after Hornet’s death. The Pale King is still mourning.
Relationships: Herrah the Beast/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Series: Hornet Dies :/ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132583
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	Sore Wounds in the Spare Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Murderbirb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murderbirb/gifts).



> I got the urge to make a follow up fic to Unexpected Molting, but there is no more cannon, it’s gone.

Her and her sister were nothing alike. This was something she had learned long ago, when they first began to develop. Her sister was kind, well-mannered, compassionate, creative, complacent. She, on the other hand, was brave, curious, adventurous, anxious, messy. Her sister preferred Deepnest, but to her it was too loud. 

Truthfully, it scares her. The crawling creatures who’re fully capable of scarfing her down, especially since she cannot defend herself on account of her post-molting injury.

Now she thought of why she distrusted her father. He kept many secrets, wouldn’t tell them the truth about the many signs of a previous child. No one, not even Midwife, would spill the beans. He was hiding something, and she had a feeling it had something to do with the “ladybug spots” that flowed in their spilled blood, that stained everything it touched, and that wouldn’t allow her arm to grow back.

When she had first molted, and had landed safely on the bed of pillows he had created beneath them, he had nearly thrown up when he realized her arm had broken off. She felt disgust towards him, from that day forward. What coward abandoned their child after a traumatic incident like that? He spent the rest of the day crying in the spare room, the one they weren’t allowed to enter. It took their step-mother to coax him back out, but even then he still spent the rest of the week in his room crying, clutching at that crimson cloak he kept neatly folded in the bottom drawer of their cabinet.

What truth was he hiding from them? Who’s cloak was it? What was in the spare room? Why wouldn’t anyone tell her? 

She would get to the bottom of all of this.

“Children, I will be quite busy today, you will be staying with your step-mother for most of today.” Their father explained, motioning towards their step mother. She was peacefully sitting in her garden, tending to flowers, accompanied by her guard, Dryya. They were both quite boring, in all honesty. Her sister was much better at sitting in place. She, however, needed to move. Standing still was not an option. 

Another way her and her sister were different: her sister still took naps. She was incapable of doing so, and this, apparently, made her “very mature for her age”. Today would be the perfect day to break into the spare room and find out what they stored in there. Perhaps there were skeletons in there? She had heard rumors that Hallow ate their siblings, perhaps their siblings were stored there for later consumption? That was a gross idea, she didn’t want to see more of the sticky substance that leaked from her older sibling’s wounds. 

She missed them a lot. They sometimes came by, but they spent most of their time out and about. She hadn’t seen Ghost in what felt like years. Maybe Ghost was locked in there? Maybe it’s where all the honey rolls are held? That would make sense as to why their father always retreated to here when upset. Nothing cheered her up like honey rolls (Curiously enough, devouring copious amounts of honey rolls made her less mature. This system of maturity made no sense).

Their father had left them by now, gone off for a meeting with some annoying nobles, or to hang out with the very boring Lurien. All he ever did was paint and sit around. He didn’t even carry his nail with him! If she had a nail, she would carry it everywhere! Instead, her father told her that “she must adapt to missing an arm before she learns how to wield a blade. It was all stupid, she wanted to fight now! But instead, she had to walk around the same garden she had walked around a thousand times before. Maybe this time she’d hear one of her step mother’s many stories— of which she had already heard all of. Maybe Dryya would finally let her hold her nail, that would be exciting! Neither of those things happened, and instead she simply suffered in absolute boredom.

“Pst! Sis!” She whispered, catching the attention of her sister (who was currently playing with a stuffed tiktik that Hallow had given them).

“What’s up?” She asked, sneaking over to her location. 

“I’m gonna go explore the palace again. Can you distract Dryya so she can’t catch me?” She requested. Her sister nodded before picking up a ball of dirt and throwing it at Dryya. The Knight sputtered.

“What was that for? I just cleaned my armor yesterday!” She growled.

This was her chance. She made a mad dash for the exit of the gardens. Dryya hadn’t even seen her! She was becoming more and more stealthy as the days went on!

“Calm down, my dear Dryya, they’re just being children.”

“Well, one of the ‘children’ just ran out of the gardens. Should I calm down about that as well?” Dryya sassed.

Their stepmother pondered the question for a moment. “What’s the danger in letting her wander? The palace is childproofed, there is no need to worry.”

——

She raced down the familiar hallways, trying to find the spare room. She had already visited the kitchen and stolen a bottle of honey that she would enjoy while she learned the truth. She pulled the two pieces of metal out of the pockets of her cloak as she approached the door. She could feel some honey leaking from the bottle and into her pockets. She would have to take a bath tonight, which she was not stoked for, but the prospect of exploration into the room unknown made up to the impending awfulness that was a tub full of soap and water.

She jammed the pieces of metal into the keyhole and pried and pushed until there was a loud crack— hopefully the sound of the lock breaking and not her shell cracking again. 

Much to her excitement, she had successfully broken part of the lock. She twisted the doorknob and pushed into the room, expecting something exciting.

It was a child’s room, covered in spider webs. A bed was in the far corner, and near the center of the room was a collection of toys. A maskfly that looked to serve as a blanket, a hiveling plush, and a stuffed stag. One of the drawers at the far side of the room were torn open and multiple dresses all sporting a familiar red color were spilled across the floor. Drawings made by a child, at least a dozen of them, were attached to the wall with dried wax, drawings of another girl who looked just like her and her sibling. One drawing was of Hallow and another of Ghost. She felt uneasy now. Something was certainly wrong.

“What are you doing here.” Her father asked. When she turned to look he was standing directly behind her with his hands behind his back.

“I was exploring.” She answered, clicking the ends of her claws together nervously.

“Please step out of the room. It’s off limits.” Her father asked, a pleading undertone in his voice and sorrow in his eyes.

“Who’s room is this?” She asked.

“Please step out of the room. It’s a truth too horrible for you to handle.” He pleaded.

“I want to know the truth, I don’t care how horrible it is.” She said. He sighed. 

“If you are so desperate I will tell you. You and your sister were not the first child to be born between me and your mother. There had been many tries and many failures until, finally, one of the children emerged alive.” He explained, walking past her and into the room. 

“She was perfect in every way, one of the best parts of my life. I spent every moment I could with her and I’m so glad I did.” He looked on the verge of crying as he swatted away the years old spider webs to pick up the stag plush. 

“She was not destined for this world. That is the only explanation. When she first molted, her shell did not regrow. She fell from her web and shattered her body. She was the light of my life. She bled out in my arms.” He hugged the doll closer to his chest, unsteady breaths accompanied by several tears. 

“Your mother insisted that another child was required for her end of the deal. The deal had been off, for a long time, the Dreamer plan was no longer relevant, but still I agreed. I don’t know why I did, it caused me so much pain, but I did it. Maybe it was some foreign hope that another child could replace Hornet… when your mother brought the egg to me, I… I did something I am not proud of. I am at fault for your eternal lack of arm, I am at fault for the void in your blood, but I am glad I did it. If not for that, both you and your sister would have likely died in the same manner that she did. A bug cannot live long without its shell.” He explained, collapsing to his knees and crying. She slowly approached him, putting her hand upon his shoulder in hopes of comforting him.

“When you and your sister hatched I had been so happy, so so happy because I had the children my Root always wanted. When you went through your first molt, I could not handle the wounds that you opened. Whenever I see you it reminds me of her in her last moments, clinging to my chest with her remaining arm and crying into robes.”

“I am sorry, father. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She whispered. 

“Please, leave me to mourn. I will be out soon.” He muttered, muffled through tear-soaked claws. She sat down next to him and pulled him into as much of a hug as she could with only one arm.

“I will not leave you father. If you must mourn, then I will mourn with you.” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. 

And that’s how the White Lady found them, asleep in the spare room, stag doll squeezed between them.


End file.
